


Deaf and Dumb and Blind with Love

by Maeglin_Yedi



Series: From Orphan to Overlord Series [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeglin_Yedi/pseuds/Maeglin_Yedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Riddle has never known love, until he goes to visit his father. </p>
<p>Non-compliant with HBP and DH (written and first published in 2004)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deaf and Dumb and Blind with Love

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: NC-17  
> Warnings: Slash, excessive use of the killing curse.  
> Disclaimer: The characters from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. No money made. Just playing around with them. 
> 
> Summary: Tom Riddle has never known love, until he goes to visit his father. 
> 
> A/N: : Written for the fourth challenge on [Theatrical Muse](http://www.livejournal.com/community/theatrical_muse/): Do you believe in love at first sight?
> 
> Part of the 'From Orphan to Overlord' universe.
> 
> Big thanks to Gina for the beta!
> 
> Word count: 2417  
> First published: January 2004

Tom looked up when the door of the dormitory opened and Malfoy stepped inside. Putting his quill down, Tom turned his chair away from his desk and stared at Malfoy, who was standing near the door with his arms crossed.

"Forgot to pack something?" Tom asked. He didn't like being disturbed when he was working, as all of his roommates knew. Malfoy had better have a good excuse for interrupting him when he was just putting the finishing touches to his diary. Malfoy stepped away from the door, giving Tom a crooked smile. 

"No. But it will be over two months before we see each other again."

Tom noticed that Malfoy left the real request unsaid. So very Slytherin. 

"Indeed. The train leaves in thirty minutes, though."

Malfoy stepped closer. "I know. But I can give you something in less time than that."

Pursing his lips, Tom leaned back in his chair and gave Malfoy a questioning look. He hadn't counted on any sexual favors this morning, but Malfoy was right. It would be more than two months before Tom would have a chance of getting off again without the assistance of his own hand. 

"Very well." Tom spread his thighs, and Malfoy sank to his knees between Tom's legs. Deft fingers pulled his trousers open and a warm mouth enveloped his limp prick. Tom leaned his neck on the headrest of his chair and relaxed, letting Malfoy's clever lips and tongue coax his cock to hardness. 

Until Malfoy had suggested sucking him off in their fourth year, Tom had never had any real interest in sex. Whenever he masturbated, in the shower or late at night in his bed, it was merely a way of fixing a problem. A way of quickly and methodically meeting his body's needs. A waste of time and energy, if you asked Tom. But Malfoy had persuaded Tom to give sex a try, and Tom had learned that he liked it. 

Not so much for the sex part, but because it was such a wonderful way of demanding submission from his partners. There was something about the sight of pureblooded Malfoy on his knees, sucking the heir of Slytherin's cock, or on his hands and knees, begging for Tom to fuck him raw. There was power in sex, and Tom liked power. 

His lips twitched up in a smile, and Tom buried his fingers in Malfoy's blond hair, urging him to suck harder. 

"Who is the mudblood now, Malfoy? Who is kneeling on the floor sucking Slytherin's prick?" Tom's voice was low and hoarse, teasing but with a cruel edge. 

Malfoy hummed around his prick, and Tom closed his eyes, tightening his fingers in Malfoy's hair. It had taken him most of his third year to convince his fellow Slytherins who he truly was, but once that fact was clear, Tom had every single one of them at his command. And surprisingly enough, Malfoy, who had put him down on every possible occasion during his first three years, became his biggest and most loyal supporter. 

The room was filled with ragged breathing, slick sucking noises and the sound of flesh moving against flesh. Tom knew Malfoy was stroking himself while he sucked Tom's cock. Malfoy always did that, and Tom let him. He didn't care if Malfoy got off, as long as he wasn't bothered by it.

Tom looked down at Malfoy through his eyelashes, enjoying the sight of that aristocratic mouth moving up and down his cock. It was almost better than the feeling of Malfoy's hot tongue working his hard flesh. Tom put his other hand on the desk, touching his diary with his fingertips, tracing words that were no longer there. 

"Harder," he breathed, moaning when he felt the magic from the diary tingling up his hand and arm. Malfoy obeyed, like he always did, his cheeks hollow around Tom's prick. 

Tension started to built in Tom's sac, but he held his climax back until he heard and felt Malfoy groan, his gray eyes fluttering shut as he shot his release over his own hand. Then Tom gave into the aching urge, and came hotly inside Malfoy's mouth, his nose wrinkled and his teeth bared. 

Malfoy pulled away, wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up at Tom with a smile. "I hope that will last you two months."

"I'm sure it will. Now hurry, or you'll miss the carriages." Tom tucked his softening cock away and Malfoy did the same before he got up. 

"I'll see you September first. Have a good summer." Malfoy gave Tom a curt nod. 

Tom answered him with a smile. He was positive that his summer was going to be good now that he could stay at Hogwarts and didn't have to return to Abbey Home.

*~*~*~*~*

Tom was quiet during the train ride to King's Cross and stared out of the window. Malfoy sat next to him, but obviously recognized his mood, and left him be.

It was hard to believe he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts come September. Tom looked forward to his future in the Wizarding world, but his years at Hogwarts had made him into who he was now. 

A powerful, young wizard with a taste and talent for Dark Arts. 

Tom had grand plans for the coming years. Plans he hadn't shared with anyone, not even his closest friends. Because Tom would disappear, and the world would only know Lord Voldemort by the time he would return. 

The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, and all the students got up, collected their trunks and left the train to enjoy their summer holidays. All the students, save for Tom and Malfoy. 

"If you...if you ever need anything, you know where to find me." 

Tom turned to look at Malfoy, and nodded. "Yes, I know."

Malfoy licked his lips, hesitated for a moment, and then pressed his mouth to Tom's. 

A kiss. They never kissed. They fucked, yes, so often and so hard they both had trouble walking without a healing spell, but they never kissed.

Tom stilled for a moment before he returned it. A brush of lips and a brief touch of tongues and then they both pulled back. 

Malfoy got up and grabbed his trunk. "I'll see you around."

Tom smiled, and got up as well. "Oh yes, you will."

*~*~*~*~*

Wearing plain, black Muggle clothing, Tom looked himself over in the mirror one last time, and apparated straight to Little Hangleton from his room at the Leaky Cauldron.

He had prepared his plan well. Last summer, he had spent his time at Hogwarts looking up all the spells, curses and hexes he might need, and with Dumbledore away for most of July and August, Tom had slipped inside the Chamber of Secrets a number of times to practice them. 

And now he was ready to sever Tom Riddle's last ties with the world. 

His family's manor was hard to miss, even from the outskirts of Little Hangleton. It stood on a hill overlooking the town, and was one of the largest buildings for miles around. Tom straightened his overcoat and started walking towards the house at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped behind his back. 

The gardens looked well-tended, as did the manor itself. Tom took a moment to take in the air of obvious wealth that surrounded his family's home before he raised his hand to the brass doorknocker and slammed it against the wood three times. 

After a few moments, he heard a lock being turned and the door opened to reveal an elderly woman wearing a stylish, blue dining dress. 

"May I help you?" she asked, looking at him with curious eyes. 

"I'm looking for Tom Riddle."

"Ah, that is my son. And whom may I say is calling?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Tom said with a pleasant smile, and extended his hand. 

The woman gasped and clutched her hand over her mouth while she stepped backwards. She almost stumbled over the ridge of a thick Persian carpet, and made a grab for a side-table to keep her balance, knocking one of the porcelain vases to the ground. 

Tom watched the scene dispassionately, and when the woman backed away even further, he stepped across the threshold. 

"Mother? What's going on?"

A middle-aged man rounded the corner of the entrance hall, closely followed by an elderly man, both dressed in dark suits. They looked from the woman to Tom and back, and then recognition began to dawn in his father's hazel eyes. Familiar looking, hazel eyes. 

"You! You are not welcome here!" His father advanced on him, while the other man tended to the woman. 

"I already know that. And I didn't come here to get confirmation of it," Tom said, his voice soft and calculated and his eyes narrowed. 

"Father, call the police."

"I would advice against that, unless you want to test my power." Tom reached inside his coat and pulled out his wand. His father paled and took a step back. 

"What do you want? Money?"

"Yes, I want money. Among other things. Why don't we all sit down and have a nice chat."

His father looked at him for a moment, his jaw clenched and his forehead shining with sweat. Then he nodded his head once, and motioned for Tom to follow him. 

Tom smirked, closed the front door behind him, and joined the three others in the well-furnished drawing room.

"How much do you want?" his father asked while he opened his checkbook and reached inside his jacket for a pen.

"Everything." Tom turned away from the portrait he'd been admiring, and gave his father a pleasant smile. 

His father took a deep breath. "I'll sign you a check for ten thousand pounds." 

Tom laughed. "You must be having trouble hearing, old man. I want everything."

"Don't be ridiculous. You should be happy with what I'm willing to give you. It will be more than a freak like you ever deserves." His father tightened his fingers around the gold fountain pen. 

Circling the couch on which his grandparents were seated, Tom tilted his head and let out a tired sigh. "As much as I'd like to stay and chat, I have other things to do. Places to go. People to kill."

His grandmother gasped, but Tom ignored her and kept his eyes fixed on his father. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the fun way. Your choice."

"Fifteen thousand. That's as high as I'll go."

"Very well. _Imperio!"_

The magic that suddenly surged through Tom was overwhelming. He'd only ever tried this curse on rats before, and while it had tingled pleasantly then, what he was feeling now was more intense than anything he'd ever felt. 

He was instantly hard. 

His father's mind snapped like a twig under the curse, and he looked up at Tom with glazed eyes. 

"Sign your entire fortune over to Lord Voldemort," Tom commanded, and his father obediently started writing out the check. 

Tom kept his wand pointed at his father, kept a firm handle on his father's mind, and he felt his body get warm, a pleasant glow around his heart. 

This must be what love feels like, Tom thought. A bond between two people, stronger than life, stronger than death. More powerful than any curse and more intense than any orgasm. 

It was magic, really. 

"Hand me the check." Tom watched silently, almost hypnotized, as his father got up and offered him the piece of paper that was worth more money Tom had ever dreamed of having. He snatched it away and quickly tucked it into the pocket of his coat. Only then did he lift the curse and lower his wand. 

His father looked dazed, and Tom used that opportunity to turn to his grandparents, who were holding each other's hands while they looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. 

"It was nice meeting you. _Avada Kedavra."_

The sheer power that surged through him and shot out of his wand almost knocked him back, and Tom braced himself before he cast the curse again. His grandparents' lifeless bodies slumped against each other on the couch. 

"How...what...you!"

Tom turned towards his father slowly, and bared his teeth. "I wish I could cut you out of my body. I wish I could rid myself of your filthy Muggle blood. I'm glad you abandoned me, abandoned my mother. You didn't deserve her. And you certainly don't deserve me. I'm smarter, better, more powerful than you will ever be."

His father slinked back, grabbed the headrest of a chair for support, and held up a hand. "Wait, wait. I'll give you anything you want."

"You already have. _Avada Kedavra."_

Tom came inside his trousers before his father's dead body even hit the floor. Gasping for breath, he stumbled backwards until his back pressed against the wall, and his body jerked as his climax came to a slow end. He clutched his wand against his chest, eyes fluttering shut, body so hot he was certain it would sear his skin. 

This was what love felt like. His father had finally give him what Tom had wanted of him for his entire life. 

Casting one last glance at his father, Tom made his way to the front door, and Lord Voldemort stepped outside into the silent, summer night.

*~*~*~*~*

She begged so prettily for her son's life, but Voldemort had little patience with mudbloods. A well-aimed killing curse stopped her inane chattering, and Voldemort turned towards her infant son, who was looking up at him with wide, green eyes and a tear-streaked face.

 _"Avada Kedavra."_ It rolled off his tongue with ease, like a soft endearment to an old lover. 

But the hot surge of power and love that was supposed to follow never came. Instead pain washed over him. Pain unlike he'd ever felt before. It stripped him of his skin, of his flesh, of his bones, of his power, and left him as a shadow of a spirit. 

He had been betrayed. For seventeen years he hadn't believed in love and for almost forty years he had, and now it stabbed him in the back like a scorned spouse. He was a fool for ever thinking he could have love. 

If he could have, he would have laughed at the irony of it all. Love had betrayed him. For a mudblood. 

 

~~fin~~


End file.
